


Not A Penguin, But A Cobblepot

by thecattydddy



Series: Heir To The Empire [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Adopted, Alternate Universe - Family, Gen, self-indulgent nonsense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-19 01:19:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14225982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecattydddy/pseuds/thecattydddy
Summary: A Collection Of Random Drabbles For an AU of an AU. Featuring the main character - Ignatius Ogilvy - From my workLawless Fowling, except he was adopted by Oswald at a young age.





	1. Night Terrors

**Author's Note:**

> This whole bit?? A piece of self-indulgent _nonsense_. If you'd like to learn more about the character featured in this story, I run a roleplay blog for him over at [Lawlessfowling](http://lawlessfowling.tumblr.com/) over on Tumblr. This story features drabbles and little scenes from one of the AUs I have for him, in which he gets adopted by Oswald from a young age.
> 
> If you read this and enjoy it, I'd love to get feedback! Thanks for checking it out either way, though!

He felt like he was suffocating.

There was something horrifying about the scene playing behind his eyes, vivid like it was happening in real time. Ignatius saw the glint of silver. Heard the bang. Felt the warm, thick,  _ red _ stick to his fingers like a permanent stain that wouldn’t come off. His throat closed, unable to take a breath, and no sound coming from him when he tried to scream. His small body shook, barely containing the emotional turmoil raging within. 

He heard what he thinks is his name, echoed around him like it was closing in on him, but he couldn’t find the source. And then again, this time louder and with slight more clarity. The third time came with a shake, the world falling into a sharp and vivid black. For a fraction of a second, he’s afraid he’s lost his ability to see and starts upward, only to find his shoulders held in place. Fingers curl around the thing holding him in place in the same moment his eyes finally shoot open, incoherent pleas lost on his tongue.

He finds himself staring up at a man that it takes him a moment to recognize, fingers grasped tightly around the sleeve of his jacket. Slowly, his grip lessens and he attempts to make a greeting of some kind, but it just comes out as a confused and upset sounding whine.

“Shh,” the other interjects, his hand moving from the boy’s shoulder to his cheek. He speaks softly, the room dark and Ignatius can barely make out what is being said. His only aid is that the small apartment around them is still. “You’re alright, my boy. Just a night terror. Breath.”

The man makes an exaggerated movement to give example to what he wants from the boy and Ignatius mimics it, taking deliberately slow breaths that slow the heart that he’d had no idea was beating so fast. He receives a small smile in return; A silent affirmation for his efforts. “Good. That’a boy. Keep breathing.”

It takes Ignatius a moment, but he finds his voice again. His throat feels sore as he speaks. “M-my parents...”

“You don’t need to speak right now, Ignatius,” the other interjects, running his thumb on the side of the boy’s face. He lets out another breath of relief. He wasn’t sure how much further into that sentence he was going to get, anyways.

It’s another few moments before Ignatius tries again. “‘M sorry for disturbing you, Mis’er Cobblepot.” He attempts to sit up, but Oswald is back to holding him in place with a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t get up; It’s late.” The other shushes him, again. There’s a sad look on his face, but he’s careful to not let that leak into his voice too much. “There’s nothing to apologize for. It happens to the best of us, I assure you.”

There’s another few moments of deep breathing on Ignatius’ part, Oswald guiding him through it with breathing of his own. When he says his next piece, the slight tremor in his voice is gone and Oswald finally takes his hand from the boy’s shoulder, instead lying it on the bed next to him and leaning on it to keep himself upright. “I’m okay... I’m sorry for waking you. It wasn’t my intention.”

“I know. It’s quite alright.” It’s then that Ignatius starts to realize how  _ exhausted _ Oswald looks. It reminds the boy of how his own father had often been, worn and overworked. He carried a certain air about him that spoke of things he would not bring light to is good company. No doubt he’d come home recently from another long night. “I’m just glad you’re alright.” He gives a soft smile, reassurance heavy in his tone. “You gave mother and I quite a scare.”

Ignatius’ brow furrowed at this statement, only to have the question on his mind answered just after. Like the devil, Gertrud appears in the doorway as if summoned. A cup is in her hand and she offers a bright, if not  _ tired _ smile at the boy. “We are worried when we heard you are so  _ restless _ , my little one!” 

She waltzed into the room and when Ignatius went to sit up this time, Oswald allowed him to do so. She held out the cup to him. He delicately took it, inspecting the contents of it until she spoke, at which point he looked back up to her. “It is tea.  _ Special _ recipe. It will help you sleep.”

“Thank you,  _ Nagyi _ ,” Ignatius said in reply. The familial title she’d insisted upon made Gertrud’s smile increase in size. 

“You are  _ welcome _ , my angel.” He goes to drink the tea and it is sweet and warm; Soothing. He’s not sure how easy it’ll be getting back to sleep after the nightmare he’d just gone through, images still playing at the edges of his mind and thinking about them had him curling further in on himself, eyes trained down in shame and misery. It’d been a couple months, now, and the memories still haunted him, like a particularly vengeful spirit.

A silence fell over the three of them, the air so heavy around them that it was nearly palpable. Ignatius finished the tea. He sat for a moment, just looking at the empty teacup. His fingers curl a little more tightly around the cup. “I will be more quiet in the future as to not disturb you.”

A hand comes up to take the cup from him and he follows it to Oswald’s face, which looks a little  _ disappointed _ in that answer. Ignatius releases his hold on the dishware, hands settled in his lap and his eyes searching for an explanation for such a look. The bird sighs. “Go back to bed. It is late.”

“Yes, Sir.”

There is another beat and Oswald reaches out a hand to smooth some of the boy’s hair out of his eyes. Finally, he gets to his feet, carrying the cup in hand. “Good night, Ignatius.”

“Night, Mis’er Cobblepot.”

Oswald makes it to the door and Gertrud starts farther into the room, waiting until Ignatius is properly laying down to tuck him in. She presses a kiss to his forehead, which the ten-year-old makes a face at. “Be a good boy and go to sleep.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She hovers there a moment, staring him down as if she suspects him to get up the moment she turns her back. Ignatius shifts a little, uncomfortably, and Oswald gives a slight chuckle under his breath at this. “Come, Mother. Let him rest.”

She seems to heed her son’s statement, her gaze softening again and a smile taking to her face. “Good night.”

She heads towards the door, Oswald waiting to escort her out, and Ignatius watches them go. As soon as they leave, the door closed behind them, Ignatius turns over on his side and just lies there. He will not be getting any more sleep this evening.


	2. A Hollow Birthday

Ignatius is eleven today. 

It’s peculiar for him, having his first birthday without his parents. They had always been busy, but they made time for him when he gained another digit every year. His father had even made a request of his employer for the last one - Something he so  _ rarely _ did - insisting that ten was not just  _ any _ old year. It was a special one where he would go from being a little kid to being a young man.

If only Ed Ogilvy had known how  _ true _ that statement was, then.

The boy stood in front of a mirror as he fixed the collar of his suit. Oswald had insisted upon him having something  _ nice _ to wear; That a  _ respectable _ young man dressed to impress. Ignatius always felt them to be a little over the top, but he wanted to make his caretaker happy, so he would wear a suit if it accomplished that goal. Hell, he’d even avoid tugging at the collar that seemed to hold close his neck and didn’t feel nearly as comfortable as the leather jacket he seemed to be found in when a more casual dress was permitted.

“Ignatius, my boy!” A rapt came on his door, the voice loud enough to grab his attention. He crossed the room, opening the door a crack and peering through to the man just beyond. Oswald beamed at him when he appeared, a sly twinkle in his eye as if he had some rather  _ exciting _ news to share. “Ah, there he is! How goes your birthday, thus far?”

Ignatius was a bit taken aback by this, his eyes widening in surprise. “You remembered?”

Truthfully, Ignatius hadn’t expected anything to come of the occasion. He’d not mentioned anything of the day to anyone since Oswald had first taken him in and made inquiries about his personal information. Even then it had been said with little joy, but rather stated like another fact of his life. He’d been far more withdrawn then, so soon after the incident that had taken his parents. He had made no mention of it in the previous weeks leading up to the day and neither had either of his housemates. He’d assumed that they had simply forgotten and he had no intention of demanding something for the event when he already was living here based solely on the bird’s generosity. He made no mistake thinking there would be any life for him except on the street beyond the walls of this little apartment.

Oswald gave a laugh, as if what his ward had said was a  _ joke _ . “Of course, Silly! How could I forget? I have  _ quite _ the surprise for you, so do hurry and come to breakfast, hmm?” He reached forward and laid a tap on the boy’s nose, causing Ignatius to blink at him, slightly disoriented. One last smile was sent his way before Ignatius watched him waddle off, headed towards the table. The voices carried from the other room and he could easily pick them out as his caretaker and the man’s mother. Little time was wasted after that, Ignatius quickly finishing his morning routine and finding himself sitting across from his host, Gertrud happily serving them breakfast.

It’d been a learning experience, living with the Cobblepots. His own mother had been Italian and his father’s family from the British Isles, so the switch in cuisine had been rather startling. Even the way they ate the meals had become drastically different. He still clearly remembered his confusion the first day sitting with them, when such a large and hearty breakfast was placed on the table before them. Even the coffee, which he had become accustomed to having as more warm milk than actual coffee, had become black and unfamiliar. He hadn’t complained then, knowing better than to do so, but the changes had been overwhelming and he’d retreated to his room as soon as he’d been permitted to leave the table.

Since then, he’d grown  _ used to _ the way breakfast worked, finding a sense of comfort in the way Gertrud would insist he eat more and the bitter, heavy taste of the coffee. It was to his surprise, then, when his cup was placed on the table, the color light and frothy. His brow furrowed and he looked to her, confused. She winked at him, her smirk mischievous and fun. “I make coffee special for my angel’s birthday. But only this time; We return to real coffee tomorrow, hmm?”

“Thank you,  _ Nagyi _ .” Ignatius feels like crying but he holds it in. He has a harder time containing the shy smile that takes to his features, holding the warm cup in his hands. When he brings it to his lips, it still tastes a little funny - More coffee than he was usually given at breakfast - but it brings back memories nonetheless. He holds the coffee close to him after that, as if there was some reason to fear it being taken from him. Oswald gives him a look as he does this, but says nothing; He lets it slide, if only for this one day.

They sit and they eat, chatter limited for a brief period by eating. Finally, when Ignatius has a sausage halfway in his mouth, Oswald finally speaks up. “So, my boy. That good news I spoke of earlier.”

He quickly swallows, glancing over at the man with a curious look about him. Oswald takes this as a sign to continue. “As you know, you’ve been staying here for several months, now - Under my care as a ward. I brought you in as a  _ courtesy _ to Carmine Falcone, but also because I saw a great deal of  _ myself _ in you. Do you remember when we first met?”

“Yes, Sir.” Ignatius could remember it clearly. His father had been a dedicated man in Falcone’s organization, even if he’d rarely been in meeting with the man, himself. Ignatius had still been bitter in those days that more was not being done to avenge his dead parents and scared for the very real possibility that he would end up somewhere horrible. He’d learned later that, had he not happened upon Oswald and the bird showed an interest in him, then he likely would have been left in the care of some thugs on the edge of Falcone’s territory - Given a  _ job _ instead of a  _ family _ as if his father’s dedication all those years hadn’t even been worth a decent home for his only living heir. 

He shuddered to think of where he might be if he had just managed to miss the other’s eye.

“Well,” Oswald said, looking rather proud of himself. “I would like to proudly announce that, as of last night, you are not just my ward, but by all legal means to be considered my  _ son _ .” Ignatius froze at this, his eyes wide and startled. Oswald chuckled, continuing over his speechlessness. “Everything was finalized last night, just in time for your birthday. The process was a  _ bit _ rushed, but I was eager to get this processed.”

It took a bit to get him talking again, unsure of how to respond. “Your...  _ Son _ , Sir?”

Oswald nodded, inspecting a piece of food on the end of his fork. “Of course. You’ve been living in my home, within which I have been providing for you in all necessary ways. You’ve even been calling my lovely mother here  _ Nagyi _ \- Grandmother. Adoption seemed like the next logical step. You agree?” Satisfied with his inspection, Oswald stuck the food in his mouth, expecting Ignatius to answer his question. 

Truthfully, this was a bit of a  _ shock _ . On one hand, he felt  _ furious _ about the decision being made - Made without even  _ consulting him _ , even more so. He was not sure he was ready to be a Cobblepot. He wasn’t sure he was ready to give up being an Ogilvy, really. He couldn’t be Oswald’s son because he already  _ had _ a father.

Just because he was  _ dead _ didn’t  _ change that _ .

But on the other hand, this gesture had been done as a  _ gift _ to the boy. Oswald recognized he had no family, now, and was offering a branch in his direction - He would no longer be considered a  _ guest _ within the birds family but  _ part of it _ . 

“Being a Cobblepot is going to mean great things for you someday, my boy,” Oswald added, when Ignatius took too long to answer. “I’m going to be making my way up to the top and I want to take you there with me; You and my dear mother, of course.” 

Gertrud gave a touched reply, taking Oswald’s hand and laying praise about how he was such a  _ good son _ on him. Ignatius watched the two of them, realizing that what Oswald spoke of - Of  _ being something  _ as a Cobblepot - that was what his own parents would have wanted for him. His father had spoke of never rocking the boat, of working hard and doing as he was told, and of being rewarded for that. 

This, Ignatius concluded, was Ed Ogilvy’s reward.

“I’m honored, Mis’er Cobblepot,” Ignatius answered, letting a smile take to his face. Oswald returned it tenfold, thrilled to hear him say such a thing. Gertrud scoffed, reaching out with her freehand towards the boy, who took it when it was offered to him.

“You call him  _ Mis’er Cobblepot _ ? Pshh!” She shook her head, giving Ignatius a  _ look _ . “No more! You are  _ also _ Mis’er Cobblepot now, no? He is your father; You call him as such.”

“Of course,  _ Nagyi _ .” The word felt heavy to him, as if he was tearing them away from their  _ rightful _ owner, but he forced himself through it anyways. Said with what one could mistake for a certain sense of  _ sincerity _ , even. “Thank you, Father.”

Oswald expression melted, easily falling for the mask. “Of course, my boy.”

But the moment ended abruptly, Oswald pushing back from the table and rising to his feet. He waddled away from the table, seeking out his coat. “Now, we must get going. I’ve told Ms.Mooney that I would bring you by to meet her and we will have to get going if you’re to do so and still make it to school on time.”

“Your boss?” Ignatius clarified, also rising from his seat. “Why does she want to meet  _ me _ ?”

Oswald looked irritated when the question was asked, but his gaze was going off towards the middle distance. Clearly he did not have the asker on his mind to create such a displeased expression. “She agreed to help me rush along the process of your adoption if I brought you to meet her once it was completed.”

“You cannot stay a little longer?” Gertrud asked, her eyes pleading.

“No, mother. I must get going.” Oswald gave her a soft smile, apologetic in nature. “But we will be home this evening to celebrate, yes?”

She seemed satisfied enough with this and gave a curt nod in return. “Yes. We will celebrate then. Give your mother a kiss before you go!” Oswald, rolled his eyes and waddled back over to her, pressing a kiss to the side of her face. Once he pulled away, Gertrud turned to Ignatius, expectantly. “You, too!”

Ignatius complied, crossing over to kiss her other side. She patted his cheek in gratitude, taking in her young men with a fond twinkle in her eyes. “You both be good boys.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the two replied, in unison.

 

* * *

 

This entire request had been a set-up to belittle Oswald.

It didn’t take Ignatius very long to realize this. He could tell something was up from the moment he’d walked into Fish’s nightclub. She was waiting there when they arrived, sitting at one of the empty tables, a glass of wine in her hand. Her thugs dotted the edges of the room. Oswald kept a hand on Ignatius’ shoulder as they walked up to her, pushing him along. She gave a disarming smile when they both approached. “Ah, so  _ this _ must be the little hatching my Penguin has been going on about, hmm?”

Ignatius could feel Oswald flinch at the use of the name, but his tone sounded light and full of appeasement when he spoke. “Yes, Ms.Mooney. This is Ignatius. Say hello, my boy.”

She stuck her hand out in his direction and Ignatius knew enough about how this worked to play along, moving forward and taking her hand in his. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, keeping his head bowed for a moment extra to really drive the  _ submission _ home. “It’s an honor, Ms.Mooney.” 

Her lip curled upward, approving of the display. She took her hand back when he had finished his greeting, returning to her glass. “My, what a fine young man you have here, Oswald. The perfect makings for another umbrella boy.”

“Yes,  _ well _ .” Oswald pulled Ignatius back towards him a bit, farther from Fish’s reach. “He really should be getting to school. A boy needs his education.”

Fish laughed. “Nonsense! I hear it’s the boy’s birthday; You don’t want to go to school on your  _ birthday _ , do you, Ignatius?”

He hesitated, unsure of how to answer. On one hand, he  _ really _ didn’t want to stay here and watch Fish make an idiot of his guardian. But, on the other, he was fairly certain he knew what answer she  _ wanted  _ to hear. His head started to turn to look behind him, seeking guidance from Oswald, but Fish interjected before he could get more than a peek in. “I asked  _ you _ , boy! Not him. Do you want to go to school on your birthday or  _ not _ ?”

Ignatius looked back at her, shaking his head. He knew the right answer. “No, Ma’am.”

Her smile returned, approval heavy in her tone. “Of course not. I have an idea; Why don’t you stay here? You can watch your new Papa at work. It’ll be a learning experience for when you eventually take over the family business, yeah?”

A nod is the only reply she’s given. He was waved off to one corner of the establishment, told to stay put and not bring attention to himself. As the day progressed, he came to term with the fact she was just using him as a further means to control Oswald, belittling him to show her  _ power _ . His father’s employer had done that too, but his methods had not been based in shame, but  _ pain _ and  _ loss _ . The man would punish for the slightest infraction so that everyone who worked under him lived in constant  _ fear _ of making mistakes. Ed Ogilvy had been a target for such an infraction. One sheep would have to serve as an example to the others - A  _ scapegoat _ to show what could become of those that stepped out of line. 

Like his father before him, Oswald did nothing but serve loyally to deserve this.

His uneasiness turned to irritation, which morphed later into silent fury. By midday, he was sprawled out across the booth he’d been stuck into, chin buried in his crossed arms. He’d been fetched a stack of paper and some crayons, at some point, with which to entertain himself. It didn’t help any that they belittle  _ him  _ as well, acting as if he could be entertained by pointless scribbling as if he was a four-year-old.

It was at this point that Oswald slid into the booth across from him, a styrofoam box placed on the table in front of him. He looked pleased with himself, pushing the box towards the boy, who unfolded out of his depressive state to accept it. “I’ve brought you some lunch, Ignatius.”

He appeared skeptical, opening the box and peering inside. The look faded away, however, when he saw the meal within. The bird looked only happier at the confusion he got. “It’s authentic. Don’t let the other’s catch you with it, though. You’ll make them  _ jealous _ .”

Offered a fork, Ignatius took it and stuck it into the box, twirling some of the noodles around the silverware. “Thank you, Sir.”

“You’re very welcome.” Oswald watched him start to eat, looking over the scene he found him in. The crayons had remained untouched, bar for one maroon one that he’d snapped in half out of spite. “How have you been holding up?”

“Fine,” Ignatius answered, not sounding exactly convincing with the way he said it.

“Hmm.” Oswald raised an eyebrow at that, but carried on in his questions. “It’s a nice club, yes?”

Ignatius looked around them. “I guess.”

“I want to have one of my own someday,” Oswald mentioned, following suit in the boy’s example with a hint of a future fantasy written in his body language. “And I’m going to have it, too. It’ll just take a little hard work and  _ patience _ .”

Ignatius stabbed his pasta a little hard that time, not giving an answer to the statement. The bird’s stare became a little more pointed, but again he said nothing. “Ms.Mooney is quite resourceful and very generous. I’m quite fortunate to be working for her, don’t you think?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged, purposefully not looking up at Oswald as he spoke. “I think she’s kinda seems like a bitch.”

That got him a wide range of reactions. Oswald’s immediate one was of shock, sputtering out some kind of reply that was unintelligible to even the man, himself. The second was a quick strike of fear, looking around trying to see if anyone had overheard the boy. The last was one of fury, which earned the kid a very sharp, “ _ Ignatius _ !”

The boy spooked at that, his gaze snapping up and the fork frozen halfway to his mouth. He shrunk a little under the glare he received. Oswald’s voice was hushed, but clearly  _ displeased _ . “You can’t  _ say _ that! What if someone heard you? The  _ disrespect _ -”

“So, the boy is not a fan, then?” Fish’s voice echoed over them both and Oswald went pale. 

They both looked to her, and Oswald’s blood ran cold at the smile painted on her face, easily detecting the sinister undertones to it. He gave a nervous chuckle, waving a hand in the boy’s direction as if to say she should disregard him. “Of course he is, Ms.Mooney. We are both  _ eternally _ grateful to you. You know how children can get, though; They get tired and they say things they don’t  _ mean _ . Ignatius, you will apologize to Ms.Mooney  _ immediately _ .”

His glance towards Oswald showed the other was serious about the command and he sighed, setting down his fork and facing the woman. “My  _ apologies _ , Ms.Mooney.”

There was still a prominent hint of annoyance in his voice as he said it and Oswald looked ready to explode then and there, but Fish simply chuckled and pat the boy on the head. “He does seem a bit  _ cranky _ . Oswald, why don’t you be a dear and take the rest of the afternoon  _ off _ . You should take your boy home and make sure he takes a nap, hmm?”

“Of course, Ms.Mooney,” Oswald agreed, already scammering out of the booth. “A fantastic idea. Come along, Ignatius.”

The boy didn’t need to be told twice, collecting his lunch as Oswald started towards the exit. He slipped out to follow him, pausing only a moment to exchange a look with Fish. She only seemed amused by it, which only proved to infuriate him further.

“ _ Now _ , boy!”

That got him moving and he picked up his pace to catch up. The car was still waiting for them where it’d been left that morning, tucked away from any carjackers that may feel so inclined to go for a joyride. He pointed to the vehicle, his voice leaving no room for an argument. “ _ In _ .”

Compliance was a given, the boy putting himself into the backseat and buckling up, putting a little distance between himself and his guardian. Oswald simply rolled his eyes and climbed into the driver’s seat. The car started with a violent rev.

And then Oswald started the  _ lecture _ .

“I don’t know  _ where _ you get off thinking you can speak that way!” he hissed, making sure the boy was looking at him through the rearview mirror. His voice raised a little so he could be heard over the car, as well. “It’s  _ dangerous _ to just go spouting off whatever you like! Also, you’re  _ eleven years old _ . Where did you even learn that word? What am I saying; This is Gotham...  _ Still _ , if Mother catches you saying that you can be  _ certain _ she isn’t going to be as  _ forgiving _ ! What could even  _ compel you _ to think saying that about Fish was a good idea? In her own  _ club _ , no less!”

Ignatius didn’t say anything at first, thinking the question was rhetorical, until Oswald ended a particularly long stretch of silence with a “ _ Well? _ ” The boy simply grit his teeth and crossed his arms over his chest.

“No reason.”

Oswald snarled, eyes narrowing. “That had  _ better not _ be your answer. I can  _ assure you _ that if you make me pull this car over and get something else from you, you are  _ not _ going to be happy about that arrangement.  _ Try again _ .” 

There was a hesitation on his side, looking away from the piercing look Oswald sent him. His second attempt was mumbled when he gave it, barely audible. “Respecting her isn’t going to make you any safer, anyways.”

“What?”

“I said!” Ignatius spun on him, tears building at the corner of his eyes. “ _ Respecting her isn’t going to make you any safer, anyways! _ ” 

“What kind of absolute- Are you crying?” Oswald paused when Ignatius sniffled, his fingers digging into his arm in an attempt to make himself shut up. He took a more gentle tone, if not still firm. “Come now, boy. I’ve barely even raised my voice at you. This is no reason to be so  _ upset _ .”

He simply pulled his legs closer to his body at this, curling into a ball. When he didn’t come out of it with any coaxing from Oswald, he felt the car pull over and the engine suddenly cut off. When the bird next spoke, it was with a soft hesitance that made Igantius peek out, if only just a little bit.

“Ignatius, what is the matter?”

He sniffled again, rubbing at his eyes. “Nothing.”

Oswald sighed, shifting in the driver’s seat so he could get a better look at the boy. “It’s clearly not nothing. What could possibly have you in such a tizzy? Is it because you’re tired? Because you didn’t like the food? Because you were thinking about you par-” The boy flinched at the start of the question and he left it to die on his lips, a realization coming to him.

“You’re upset about watching me work for Ms.Mooney.”

The boy said nothing, but there was no reason to. The answer Oswald sought was written all over the boy’s face. They simply sat in silence for a moment, Ignatius catching his breath. 

“My father used to say not to rock the boat,” he finally caved, picking at his cuffs. “That loyalty and hard work was how you made it in this life... And we both know what that got him.”

Another pause, this one concluded by a tired release of a breath. “Your father was partially right. Those things  _ can _ wield great reward.”

Ignatius gave him a look, unconvinced. “I-”

“ _ But _ .” Oswald cut him off before he could hope to interject something. “Only if that loyalty goes  _ both ways _ . True loyalty is rare to find, but it should be  _ respected _ .  _ Returned _ . Your father’s employer did not return it and that was his fatal mistake.”

“However,” he tilted his head a little, catching the boy’s eye. “ _ True _ loyalty and  _ perceived _ loyalty are not the same thing, Ignatius. Are you familiar with the nesting habits of the cuckoo bird?”

“No,” Ignatius admitted.

“Essentially,” Oswald explained. “They plant their eggs in the nests of others. The eggs then remain in the nest, mimicking the real chicks they have replaced. The cuckoo never need to build its own nest or fight for other’s. It simply waits for the opportune moment to enact a clever ruse.”

“So... You’re the cuckoo bird?” Ignatius assumed.

“Exactly,” Oswald said. “I’m willing to play along with those who outrank me, to  _ learn  _ from them even, but do not be  _ mistaken _ , Ignatius. They are not loyal to  _ me _ , so I see no reason to be the same to them.”

“So... When you’re ready... You’re going to rock the boat?”

Oswald chuckled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his handkerchief. He leaned into the back, wiping at the boy’s face to clean it up a little and remove evidence of his previous episode. “Yes, my boy. I’m  _ definitely _ going to be rocking the boat. You needn’t worry about me meeting the same fate as your late father.”

“Okay...”

There was a glare sent in his direction, warning heavy in it. “But you also need to learn a little  _ tact _ , Boy. If I catch you saying that or any similar phrase again, I will be reporting you back to my mother.”

Ignatius wrinkled his nose, unhappy with that idea. “Please don’t.”

“Then don’t say it. Now, I believe it is still your birthday, yes? What say you to a milkshake?”

The boy gave a soft smile, definitely enticed by the idea of that. “Yes, that would be nice.”


End file.
